


Of Saltwives and Rockwives

by bluebright_l



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:25:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebright_l/pseuds/bluebright_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PwP, Euron plays matchmaker. Or something. I don't even know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Saltwives and Rockwives

Asha was stuck between two of the most dangerous men she could imagine, and while under normal circumstances she’d call that the beginnings of a good night, her uncles Euron and Victarion were a different matter entirely. She had one hand clenched around the neck of Victarion’s armour, the other on Euron’s shoulder, his bare skin hot to the touch. He’d come out to the hall from his bedchamber, wearing only breeches, at his brother’s drunken bellows. He was burning up, making her hand slick with sweat, but his smiling blue eye was cold as he glared at Victarion over her shoulder.  
  
“I gave you one task, Victarion. Are you as incompetent a commander as you were a husband? Find my future queen, and bring her to me. How hard was that?” Euron’s voice was in Asha’s ear, harsh words spoken in a dangerously soft whisper.  
  
She flinched as her other uncle surged forward, firewhiskey setting his smoldering anger aflame, Euron’s taunts fanning the flames. Asha did her best to hold Victarion back, but strong as the sea had made her, he was twice her size and muscled like a bull. He pressed into her, bracketing her uncomfortably between him and Euron.  
  
Asha gasped audibly as Victarion reached past her and snatched Euron up by the throat with his blackened hand, the one that the men swore was crafted from some dark magic. Euron’s face never changed expression, a smile playing at the corners of his blue lips, as his younger brother lifted him up against the damp stone wall of the hall.  Asha managed to wedge herself back in between the two of them, the length of her back flush against her uncle Euron as she shoved at Victarion’s chest with both hands, snarling.  
  
“Let go, you fucking fool!” Asha spit the words out through clenched teeth, shoving against Victarion with all her might.  
  
Suddenly, she felt Euron snake an arm around her neck, holding her back against him, even as Victarion choked him harder. He was hot, so hot against Asha’s back, and she realized he was canting his hips into hers, and by the Drowned God, if he wasn’t hard as fucking steel. Then his lips were at her ear, that smoothly seductive voice strained with the hand at his throat, making her go still between the two men.  
  
“Look at my little brother, niece, your own uncle. I like to imagine this is the Victarion his salt wife saw as he beat her to death. I did him a favor, you know, forcing him to rid himself of her. She was not worthy of him, of a Greyjoy,” Euron’s voice was worming its way into Asha’s brain, even as his hips were grinding against her arse, slow and insistent.   
  
Victarion still had his hand around Euron’s throat, no longer choking, but simply pining him against the wall. Asha could see the rage in his eyes at Euron’s words, but she realized that he was restraining himself for her sake. She did not think the arm around her throat was anything to fear, but one never knew with the Crow’s Eye, and she would have been amused by Victarion’s concern if she could concentrate on anything other than the voice in her ear or the cock pressed against her.  
  
Euron went on, “What your uncle needs is a strong woman, a rock wife, not a weeper of a saltwife. A woman such as you, Asha, my niece.”  
  
With those words, he released Asha, shoving her forward with a hard thrust of his hips. Victarion caught her with his free arm, her head smacking against his breastplate painfully. His burnt hand was now tightening against Euron’s throat again, while holding her tight to his chest with the other. Asha bristled at the idea of being held safe like some weak greenlander woman or saltwife, but she didn’t dare solve the problem like she would with any other man — a swift knee to the groin. Instead she twisted in her uncle’s grasp, standing on tiptoes and turning her mouth up to his ear.  
  
“Uncle...Victarion, listen to me. You are no kinslayer, you are a better man than he. Stop this madness, he only enjoys this. Look at his breeches if you don’t believe me,” Asha spoke low and fast, bringing a hand up to stroke her uncle’s bearded cheek. “Please, uncle, leave him.”  
  
Victarion glanced down at her, jaw clenched beneath her fingers. “You’re bleeding, niece.”  
  
His hand came off of Euron’s throat as he spoke, and her elder uncle fell to his feet, landing lightly with a disturbing smile playing across his blue lips. Victarion ignored his brother, and turned abruptly, hauling Asha along in his wake as he strode away. She didn’t fight him, curious to see what he meant to do with her.  When he spoke again, it was over his shoulder, voice clipped.  
  
“He means to wed you to me. I cannot imagine why, as you’d be much more useful in an alliance...even I  can see that.”  
  
Asha only shrugged, still being pulled along by the elbow. Privately, she thought that Euron would rather see the whole of Westeros burn, rather than allying himself with any greenlanders, and that this ploy was merely another way for him to torment his brother. She had no illusions about either of her uncles having her best interests in mind, although she did trust both of them to further the interests of the family. And if Asha were honest with herself, she’d rather be wed to Victarion, for all his faults, than a soft greenlander who would take her from the sea and saddle her with weak, unworthy children.  
  
Of course, all of this meant nothing next to the fact that he was her _uncle_ , her father’s brother. The idea of it didn’t disturb Asha as much as it probably ought to, but she was intrigued by the almost-nonchalant manner with which Victarion had mentioned it. He had always been a pious man, devoted to the old ways, and they were not Targaryens. Could he actually be considering it? Granted, if it were what Euron truly wanted, neither of them would have much say in the matter.  
  
Asha’s thoughts were interrupted by her uncle, who was booting a door open with a muttered curse. She was dragged into the dimly lit room, wincing as he backhanded a thrall who was lighting candles.  
  
“Out!” He bellowed, raising a hand again to the thrall, who scurried out of the room, leaving half the candles unlit.  
  
“Uncle!” She didn’t cower before him when he turned to her, hand raised, and she could finally see his face for the first time since they’d left the hall. Desire was written plain there, as was rage. It made her stomach twist in a not unfamiliar way, and she was suddenly well aware of the slickness between her legs, of the way Euron had stoked the fire within her.  
  
He brought his hand to her face, but not in a stinging slap. Asha winced as he rubbed a rough thumb across her forehead, his hand bloody when he pulled it back into her view. She smirked as Victarion wiped the blood on _her_ jerkin, although his armour already had a streak of her blood across it. His hand was heavy on her shoulder, but clumsy, and dipped perilously close to her breast.   
  
Asha took a deep breath, meaning to say something, anything, to break the tension in the room. Unfortunately, it only managed to bring his hand lower, and suddenly her uncle was palming her breast, albeit accidentally. She felt her nipple tighten, and Victarion groaned, a low, frustrated sound, as his huge hand curled around her breast, kneading it roughly. Before Asha could even react, he was walking her backwards towards his bed, one thickly muscled thigh in between hers, something that made her breath come up short.  
  
The backs of her thighs hit the bed, and now he was pushing her down onto the feather-filled mattress, a finer bed than even she had. Victarion had one hand still at her breast, while the other worked at the laces of her jerkin. Asha was tired of being pushed around like a piece of furniture, though; she slapped his hand away from her jerkin and pulled out the laces herself, watching his face. She was oddly gratified to see the stark need in his eyes, and wasn’t at all surprised at the way his hands slipped her jerkin off and roughly pulled at the tunic underneath.    
  
She let him get her tunic off, smirking at the way his face went slack with desire.  But when he moved to press her back down to the bed, she stopped him, rapping sharply on his still-bloody breastplate.  
  
“My lord uncle...” Asha rapped on the breastplate again, her wry grin belying her courteous words. “You are in no danger here. If I wanted cold metal pressed against me, I need only find my suckling babe,” she said, referring to the dagger she normally wore about her neck.  
  
Victarion froze, not moving even when Asha sat up and began unbuckling his armour herself, nipples stiffening as they brushed against the breastplate.  
  
“Don’t...don’t call me that, girl,” his voice was thick, almost a growl. “Not here, not now.”  
  
She just scoffed at him, undoing the last buckle and pulling his breastplate away. He took it from her hands and moved away, stripping the rest of his armour off with slow, practiced motions, not looking at her. As he finished, Asha laid back on the bed, toying with the laces of her breeches, untying the knot and loosening them.  Victarion stood at the edge of the bed, clad only in a loose tunic and breeches now; from the angle at which Asha lay, she could see the outline of his cock straining at his breeches.  
  
“From the looks of it, your brother lied, Unc-...Victarion,” Asha ran a finger along the length of him as she spoke, smiling when he drew a sharp breath, although she knew she was walking a thin line here.  
  
“You mind your tongue, girl...”  
  
Asha laughed, drawing back and shucking her own breeches off. She was rather enjoying tormenting her uncle, truth be told, and from what she’d felt, he was enjoying it too.   
  
“Come and make me, Lord Captain,” Asha said, unable to restrain her tendency to challenge a man, in bed or otherwise.  
  
Something, whether it was his title or her tone, obviously struck a nerve with Victarion. He had his tunic off in a heartbeat, tossing it over a bedpost carelessly. Asha couldn’t help but draw a breath at the sight of him, all dense muscle and scars, coarse black hair on his chest trailing down his belly. Usually Asha preferred her men slim and lithe, their bodies similar to her own. For all that, she found herself rising to her knees and placing a hand on her uncle’s chest, fingers curling in the dark hair there, his heart beating wildly beneath her palm.  
  
“Asha...” Victarion trailed off as she let her hand fall to unlace his breeches.   
  
Asha didn’t reply, she was busy tugging said breeches down, privately amused that he, like her, had forgone smallclothes when dressing that morning. His cock was of a size with the rest of him, she was pleased to see.  Wrapping her hand around it drew a sharp breath from his lips, and Asha grinned up at him wickedly.  
  
“Going to make me mind my tongue, nuncle?” Asha waited a second, and when no blow fell, she bent her head and gave him a good lick from root to tip. _He tastes of the sea_ , she thought randomly. _We are both of the sea, he and I. True Greyjoys._ Asha was generally indifferent to the act of sucking a man off, but when her uncle cupped the base of her skull with a hot hand, fingers threading in her hair and pulling her forward, she set to it rather enthusiastically. His hips were solid blocks of muscle, anchoring her, twitching beneath her hands when she flicked her tongue a certain way.   
  
Enjoying the low groan she drew forth with a light application of teeth, Asha tried it again. Another groan, a muttered curse, and she pulled away, grinning crookedly. She rose on her knees again, kissing him, teasingly at first, but soon deepening. The kiss felt, strangely, far more intimate than his cock in her mouth had. Her hands moved to the leather thong tying Victarion’s hair back, undoing it deftly and twining her hands in the long, inky locks, the streaks of silver a startling contrast when loose like this. As her uncle’s teeth sank into her lower lip, repaying her earlier bite, Asha moaned and slid a hand down to touch herself, needing more. Her fingers had no sooner found that sweet spot, the slippery little nub that Qarl so loved to tease, than Victarion was wrenching her hand away.  
  
Before she could voice a protest, he had her pinned to the bed, one rough hand holding both of hers above her head as he covered her body with his. Asha’s hips rose to meet his, struggling against his hand to free hers, and he gave one hard thrust - never one to hesitate once the die had been cast, was Victarion. He released her hands after a moment, bracing himself on his burnt arm as he rutted against her, and it was too fast, Asha thought. _Too hard, too fast...he’ll spend himself in moments. Fool men, always taking and never giving._  
  
She made a decision, and quick as an eel, she’d wrapped her legs around him and neatly flipped him with a deft twist of her hips, a move she’d learned wrestling with her brothers as a child. The sensation of it made her moan and buck her hips, and she opened her eyes, wondering how her uncle would take to being ridden, to losing control.  
  
“...the fucking hell?“ His voice was harsh, waves crashing on the rocks below Pyke.  
  
Asha kissed him, hard. Her hips were rolling against him in a slow, steady rhythm, but their kiss was desperate, passionate. Mouths crashed against each other, devouring. Suddenly, Victarion snaked an arm around his niece’s waist and reversed her flip, pinning her back to the bed once again. Asha wasn’t one to give in so easily, though; she arched her back, strong sea-legs wrapped around his hips, crying out as she took her pleasure. She was right, in the end...he fucked like he fought: brutally hard, and with a quick end.  
  
Afterwards, when she thought it might get awkward, or even violent, Asha wrapped a sheet around herself and tried to crawl from the bed. Her progress was impeded by a hand on her hip, pulling her back to the middle of the bed and her uncle’s side.  
  
“No,” he said drowsily, long hair partially obscuring his face from her. “He was right, damn him.”  
  
She considered a moment, weighing her options, and found she couldn’t bring herself to disagree. She unfurled the sheet, snapping it in the air like a sail. Asha was asleep by the time the sheet covered them, the sound of the sea filling the room.


End file.
